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pumpkin poem

Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
wenn es
holen Sie mir weichen Song
Nobility des Todes wieder
Sonne und Wind und Schlag von Meer
es gab ein strangeness auf Ihren Lippen
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
Ruhe als die zweiter Sommer
Sie sagen, daß Sie mich lieben
das traurigste des Jahres
als ich in Ihre Augen schaute
Tochter, thoukunst kommen zu sterben

 



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